But we're not in Scotland yet...here it's loughs....
Time to head for Dublin town----
In the merry month of June from my home I started
left the girls of Taum nearly brokenhearted saluted me father dear,
kissed me darling mother drank a pint of beer,
my grief and tears to smother then off to reap the corn,
leave where I was born cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghosts and goblin,
brand-new pair of brogues,
rattling o'er the bogs frightening all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.
In Mullingar last night, I rested limbs so weary started by daylight next morning bright
and early took a drop of the pure to keep me heart from sinking
that's the daddy's cure when he's on the drinking see the lassies smile,
laughing all the while at me darling style, would set your heart a-bubblin' asked me was I hired,
wages I required 'til I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.
Chorus:
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack-fol-la-de-da!
In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity to be so soon deprived a view of that fine city
decided to take a stroll all among the quality bundle,
it was stole in that neat locality something crossed my mind when I looked behind
no bundle could I find upon me stick a-wobblin' crying for a rogue said me
connaught brogue wasn't much in-vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.
From there I got away, me spirits never failing landed on the quay just as the ship was sailing captain at me roared,
said that no room had he then I jumped aboard a cabin found for Daddy down among the pigs,
played some funny rigs, danced some hearty jigs,
the water 'round me bubblin' off to hollyhead wished myself was dead
or better far instead on the rocky road to Dublin.
The boys in Liverpool, when we safely landed called myself a fool,
I could no longer stand it blood began to boil,
temper I was losing poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing hooray me soul,
says I, let the shellaillagh fly some galway boys were nigh,
saw I was a-hobblin' with a loud array,
they joined me in the fray and soon we cleared the way on the rocky road to Dublin.
and now, for a serious, sober pause,
paying respects to a proper Irishman:
Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin' Street,
A gentleman, Irish, mighty odd;
He had a brogue both rich and sweet,
And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
Now Tim had a sort of the tipplin' way,
With a love of the whiskey he was born,
And to help him on with his work each day,
He'd a "drop of the cray-thur" every morn.
Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!
One mornin' Tim was feelin' full,
His head was heavy which made him shake;
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull,
And they carried him home his corpse to wake.
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet,
And laid him out upon the bed,
A gallon of whiskey at his feet,
And a barrel of porter at his head.
Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!
His friends assembled at the wake,
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch,
First they brought in tay and cake,
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
Biddy O'Brien began to bawl,
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?
"O Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?"
Arragh, hold your gob said Paddy McGhee!
Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!
Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job,
"O Biddy," says she, "You're wrong, I'm sure",
Biddy she gave her a belt in the gob,
And left her sprawlin' on the floor.
And then the war did soon engage,
'Twas woman to woman and man to man,
Shillelagh law was all the rage,
And a row and a ruction soon began.
Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head,
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him,
It missed, and falling on the bed,
The liquor scattered over Tim!
The corpse revives! See how he raises!
Timothy rising from the bed,
Says,"Whirl your whiskey around like blazes,
Thanum an Dhul! Do you thunk I'm dead?"
Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!
O Mary, at thy window be!
It is the wish'd the trysted [meeting] hour.
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor.
How blythely wad I bide the stoure [bear the struggle],
A weary slave frae sun to sun.
Could I the rich reward secure -
The lovely Mary Morison!
Yestreen [last night], when to the trembling string
The dance gaed [went]thro the lighted ha'
To thee my fancy took its wing
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho this was fair, and that was braw [fine].
And yon the toast of a'the [the other] town,
I sigh'd and said amang them a' -
"Ye are na Mary Morison!"
O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie [not give],
At least be pity to me shown:
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o Mary Morison.
Robert Burns